


A Sorcerer and the Spider

by GalekhXigisi



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Extra Limbs, I Die By My Own Sword, I forgot they're called sorcerers okay, Injury Recovery, Loss of Limbs, Mentioned Characters, No Beta, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker has ADHD, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Stephen Strange Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Stephen Strange is a Good Bro, Trans Peter Parker, We Die Like Men, spider genetics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:26:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: Doctor Stephen Strange was not a man who expected to get shown up by, well, anyone. Within his time studying, he's learned that he has to lower his expectations. Within lowering them, never did he expect to get shown up by a teenager.Aka, that fic where I make Peter Stephen's mentor in the beginning and Stephen becomes Peter's father figure because I want to.
Relationships: Ancient One & Peter Parker, Christine Palmer & Peter Parker, Christine Palmer & Stephen Strange, Peter Parker & Stephen Strange
Comments: 14
Kudos: 162





	1. Introductions and First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't ever written stuff involving Doctor Strange since I've started writing seriously, so I'm really sorry if this seems ooc, I'm trying to write correctly. 
> 
> There is the discourse that comes with the Accords, which I'm writing based a lot on my own opinion about it and my own overview, but I am an unreliable narrator. I mean no disrespect or harm towards the other characters of Team Iron Man, but damn did they get their asses handed to them on a plate. I'm gonna write a better future for them once I get the chance. 
> 
> This will have events to do with Doctor Strange (2016) and Homecoming, but I'm not sure if I'll be doing stuff for any of the other movies yet. However, it is Civil War compliant, for the most part.
> 
> Any flubs of Magician are my own. I'm baby, let me live, please. I have no beta.

Stephen Strange was not a man of arrogance. He knew certain things, things like checking your surroundings, getting a good feel for the fellows around him that he would, inevitably, be sharing a “home” with for the next long while. And he’s done that, done that a lot of times, and yet, not once, had he seen the boy that the Ancient One has just brought out purely to spite Stephen’s constant _“it’s because of my hands”_ mindset that no longer could thrum through. 

The boy’s young, soft-faced as he smiles presenting the yellow sparks of magic as if it were instinct. Short, brown curls fall over his forehead, brown eyes sparkling as he turns to face Stephen, showing off easily. He hadn’t seen the boy before now, before today. He seems to be working the magic just fine, almost as if he had been raised in a line of magicians himself, which Stephen wonders if that’s how it goes. He mildly thinks that he should talk to the boy at some point if he gets the chance. 

And the chance doesn’t befall him until three nights later, when he finds the boy exiting the library, a hefty pile of books in his arm, folded there, among extra limbs that fall out of the robe he had on. If Stephen falters for a moment, the boy doesn’t say anything about it, just saying, “You’re Mister Doctor Strange, right?” 

_“Just Doctor_ Strange,” the man corrects easily, “I am.” 

The boy nods. “I’m Peter,” he says, offering an extra limb to shake, one that looks far more like a bug’s leg than an actual limb. “Sorry, I don’t have a fleshy hand available.” 

The man merely shakes it, raising a brow. “Are these coming out of you?”

Peter smiles at that, nodding. “They are, actually,” he easily tells, “they’re part of me. And they actually grow back if you pull one off, unlike a real arm.” Peter falters for a moment, brows furrowing as he ponders, “I guess that’s a bad joke, huh?” 

Stephen shrugs, brows both raised in surprise. “Can’t say I was expecting it.” 

“Miss Ancient One says jokes are usually used to cope with trauma,” he nonchalantly tells. “Do you mind me asking what happened to get you here?” 

The boy starts to walk, which Stephen walks easily in stride with, not minding. He was more wandering around the halls to try and find something to do than anything, if he were being honest, so this little bit would be nothing, another fine distraction. “Only if you don’t mind me getting your origin story in return,” he easily responds, which earns a smile and nod from the boy, agreement to cooperate. “I got into a car crash, really bad, flipped my car and everything, tore up my ligaments to Hell.” 

“Wow,” Peter softly comments, not at all sounding crass like the man had expected. He even seemed genuinely interested. “My aunt used to be a nurse, she used to tell me about stuff like that.” 

“What was her name?” 

“May Parker,” he says softly, a fold little smile on his face. “She could have done a lot of things, but she liked being a nurse in the pediatrics because she could calm down kids so easily.” The far off look seems soft, fond, full of admiration. 

“You said used to,” Stephen says before he can catch himself, somewhat curious. 

Peter still holds a smile, one that’s still so fond and full of life, but his eyes sparkle with more than just wonder. “Yeah. Um, I used to just be this kid, all normal and everything, but if you’re from the New York area, I’m also known as Spider-Man.” 

Stephen snorts at that. “Really? _You’re_ Spider-Man?” 

Peter still holds a smile, laughing softly. “I am, actually!” He moves the books to the extra limbs, holding them behind his back while a free one pulls up the sleeve of the robe, showing off the little spinneret on his wrist, an eight-sectioned little thing that looked like nothing more than a bump on his wrist. Beside it, there was a scar that spread over most of his wrist and up part of his arm, spindling and wrapping around his limb. 

“Is that a fucking web spinner,” he asks, his disbelief clear as the other nods. “Bullshit!” 

He laughs, “No, no, it is!” 

“How would that even work? You don’t even have an abdomen for that!” 

The boy shudders, then shrugs. “I don’t even know, honestly,” he tells, “Mister Stark and I never got around to finding out about it.” 

The doctor raises his brow at the mention of someone new. “Mister Stark?’ 

Peter brightens at that, realizing he had even said it. “Tony Stark! He was sort of my mentor for a while, but I kind of disappeared off of the face of New York a while ago.” he rubs the back of his neck, beginning to walk about. Stephen hadn’t even noticed they had stopped. “He sort of noticed me when I was just starting out as a hero, you know, just a kid in a jumpsuit going out and about under serious circumstances. He took me to Germany to fight Captain America and his buff friends, so that was cool.” 

“You fought Captain America,” he asks, almost distraught. Tony fucking Stark brought a _child_ to fight a _very experienced hero_ with multiple other heroes that certainly knew their way around a fight? That was practically child endangerment right there."

“In Germany,” Peter says, continuing to walk, “but, in his defense, I learned how to bar fight from my parents, so I was pretty okay. I got some stuff thrown at me, though, and I shattered both my wrists and multiple ribs, but I healed up pretty nice.” 

“You only have one arm,” Stephen bluntly replies as he begins walking again. He’d seen the fights for the Accords, watched them when they first began, participated from the sidelines. 

Peter lets out a laugh, though, one that’s hearty and certainly doesn’t seem upset at the doctor’s blunt reply. In fact, he seems pretty happy with it as he says, “I didn’t lose my arm because of Captain America.” He lets out a sigh, softly adding his comment as nothing more than an afternote, “I will admit, though, that I do regret my choice on the Accords. I don’t agree with them deploying heroes like they’re nothing more than toy soldiers.” 

Doctor Strange had his own view on them, too. He hadn’t cared all that much, even thought they were pretty dumb, to begin with. _Yes,_ the heroes needed to take responsibility, he did agree with that, but the extremities that came with it were _horrid._ Heroes would have to bend to the Accords’ will, nothing more than puppets, never allowed to interfere without permission, sitting and watching while being forced to do as told, control stripped from them. Silently, he felt that it was just as bad as what Hydra had done to that Winter Soldier guy, the one that caused this entire debacle to begin with. The man had no control over his actions, none at all, not with the brainwashing he found getting leaked so commonly. 

He only nods, unsure of what to say. He decides, “I didn’t agree with them either.” 

“The Winter Soldier guy is pretty cool. He has a metal arm on his left side.” Peter smiles, not at all seeming upset at the fact that he lacks his own left. “And the Falcon has metal wings, which physically attach to his back like my legs do.” He flexes the extra limb, and Stephen is pretty sure he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “They’re really cool, but I kind of felt bad for throwing them a couple of times.” 

“You threw them?”

“Yeah, I’ve got super strength and super healing, I guess.” He seems a little distant when he tells, “I didn’t buff up like Mister Rogers when I got the spider bite, though.” he falters for a moment, smile falling for just a split second. Stephen almost doesn’t catch it for a moment before he brightens up again. “But that’s okay, though! It was pretty fun and I got a suit out of it! Mister Stark kind of mentored me for a while, but it kind of stopped when Vulture showed up.” 

The doctor wasn’t even sure who that was, so he finds himself asking, “Who?” 

“He was this guy that liked to steal stuff from the old New York attacks, the one with all the aliens a while back.” He hums. “He was stealing the tech from the cleanup and using it for crimes and supplying it to villains for money, but I kind of started fighting him on it.” 

“You went up against a big villain? You’re, what, _eleven?”_

“I’m fourteen,” the boy laughs, smiling, “I was thirteen when I fought him, twelve when I fought Captain America. It’s kind of fucked up, I’ll be honest.” 

Stephen lets out a snort. 

“But he found out my identity after Mister Stark took the suit. He was pretty angry with me, and I didn’t really have any defenses for a while. I asked his daughter to the school dance, but I didn’t know his daughter was _his daughter,_ you know?” He makes a vague gesture, opening a door and leading Stephen through it. 

Peter’s room isn’t like Stephen’s own. It’s got a few things in it, a few large stacks of books, a couple of photos, a collection of blankets bundled up on the bed in what looks like a literal nest, and a few other things. It’s clean, entirely tidy, for more up kept than he expected a teenager’s room to be, but the boy sets the book on the desk in the corner and starts to organize the books. 

“He threatened to kill everyone I loved so I kind of backed down, but then I found out that he was going to rob another plane and I went after it since Mister Stark wasn’t really taking calls from me at the time.” He reddens a little at that, huffing softly. “He dropped a building on me, which took out my arm, but it was growing back, so I was okay.” 

Stephen cringes at hearing that, unable to suppress the noise of disgust. “You grow your limbs back? All of them?”

The spiderling lets out a laugh as he says, “Typically. But when we accidentally crashed the plane he was trying to steal from, his wing things that he had on his back that helped him out, it started malfunctioning. He wouldn’t let me save him from it, so I had to kind of throw him away from it and get out of there, but I didn’t get out of there fast enough, so…” He gestures towards the limb. “I ended up stumbling into the New York sanctum after the Vulture told me that he murdered my aunt and I’ve been here since, just going wherever they let me. It’s nice, really, since I get to learn and all.” 

“Wait, wait,” Stephen says, trying to collect himself at hearing that. “You saved a villain who murdered your aunt in cold blood?” 

Peter nods slowly, stopping. “He may have been a jackass,” Peter says softly, “but he still had a wife and a daughter... And killing when I can prevent it isn’t exactly my style, honestly.” 

It takes Stephen a moment to realize that Peter had gone rigid, silent, just leaning over the books. He sounds… _sad._ It takes a moment for him to register the mention of an aunt and uncle, not a parent, and the implications that sit there make his stomach stir unhappily. He doesn’t think, just softly asks, “What about your uncle?” 

The boy stiffens, just a mark away from a flinch, so small that the doctor barely even registers it. The only reason he does is because he’s been trained to within years of being on medical teams, learning what tells mean someone is or isn't uncomfortable. Peter falters for more than just a moment and Stephen finds himself saying, “you don’t have to answer that-” 

Peter interrupts, “He was killed in a mugging.” His throat sounds tight. “We were walking home. We’d gone out to the store because I had been pretty… _sick,”_ he falters with for a moment, clearing his throat. “I was finally good again and we were walking home from after going to the store. We didn’t exactly live on the best street, Queens isn’t exactly known for being all that great, but we hadn’t gotten mugged until them. I had just gotten the spider bite a couple of hours earlier and thought it was just a spider bite, nothing new, happens a lot when you live in an old building, you know?” 

His voice sounds broken, broken in a way Stephen would hear from patients with bad trauma, patients who shouldn’t have been there under any other circumstances but found themselves needing comfort after. There are sniffles, a broken watering down in his throat, a swipe of his hand. 

“He put himself in front of me, but the bullets went through and he didn’t make it. I got shot three times. One went through my leg, the other two through the area near my stomach. The guy that mugged us broke my right wrist and kicked in a couple of ribs, too. I remember just barely even being lucid when I went to the hospital. My Aunt May was there when I was coming into the hospital. If I didn’t have the spider DNA in me, I wouldn't have survived. They called me a miracle case and all that.” 

Vaguely, Stephen remembers reports in the news, a girl named Penny Parker, just a child surviving all odds. Somberly, he remembers turning down the case, too, telling everyone he didn’t want to break his streak. 

“I still blame myself for his death, which I know wasn’t my own fault. I’ve seen other Spider-people like myself in alternate dimensions, they had to lose someone, too. This boy, Miles, he lost his uncle, blamed himself, it was pretty bad for a long while.” Peter shrugs, giving a soft sigh. “I’m still working through it. But it’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” is all the man knows to say. 

Peter hums, not giving a reply. Instead, he says, “So, tell me more about yourself, since you had me going on about myself. I need a distraction from this sad crap.” 


	2. A little head flip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a spiders day, gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, triggers. I'm not sure how many there are or what all is there, but here's what I know are there
> 
> death, murder, death/murder of a family member/close friend, injuries, car wreck/s, carnage, blood, mentioned/implied menstruation, anxiety, allusions to disassociation but only briefly, PTSD, nightmares, sickness, and I'm not really sure what else but this chapter is actually VERY light-hearted compared to the chapters that will be coming out soon. 
> 
> None of these triggers are really big, I don't think. Most of them are just mentioned/implied, a lot of it is just Peter vibin during the day with Daniel at the New York sanctum, but there's some shit goin' down with his spidey senses
> 
> Daniel is NOT an OC, he is actually the New York sanctum's guardian, the one that got merced, unfortunately. I loved him so much :'(

Peter’s enhanced senses, typically, were alright to deal with. He doesn’t mind them most of the time, is able to exist without them being too much of a problem, but today is not one of those days where he can simply toss it all aside and go about his day as if his senses weren’t dialed up to an eleven constantly while everyone else sat at a level seven. He seriously wishes he could, but, as he found, today was going to kick his ass no matter how in the hell he wants to go about it, which really fucking sucks because it’s only just now one in the morning and he’s very much going to be awake until at least seven tonight. 

His heart pounds in his chest, breathing quick and sharp as he forces air into his lungs, teaching himself to breathe as best he can within the seconds he’s giving himself. Breathing was always tricky during these little panic attacks that came after nightmares, ones that haunt him from memories so long ago. Sitting with his parents in the car, watching the motorcycle go by before the car’s tire blew out and Peter slammed into the back of the car, glass getting everywhere. Peter always finds the carnage left behind when he wakes up, the blood and the bullets and glass and burning metal. The smells, the feelings, the pain that still ghosts through his body despite being fully healed years later, it all comes back enhanced and leaves Peter as just of big of a mess as he was when he was seven, screaming at his parent’s corpses to wake up, sobbing his eyes out, only alive because of adrenaline. 

Sometimes, after these nightmares, he wakes up wishing he had died then, too. But the nightmares come often and he’s learned to deal with them as if they were nothing, putting on a smile and braving the cold waters of the world as if he wasn’t a spider trudging through the cold of winter that was his mindscape. The nightmares that really fucked him up, though, were the ones with the memories of Uncle Ben and Aunt May, their deaths much fresher than his parent’s own. The blood, the aches, it was all so  _ fresh. _ Sometimes, he’d wake up screaming and thrashing, fighting to the point that he had to be sedated with heavy medicine that he’d wake up sobbing from and apologizing profusely while the Ancient One would softly talk him down from the crying mess that he was. 

He’s thankful that now is not one of those times, despite it meaning that he had fallen from the ceiling and onto a pile of books that are very much bound with metal backs to ensure a long life for them. Sleeping on the ceiling wasn’t ideal, no, but Peter often found himself up there anyway, so it wasn’t as if it was new, nor was falling from it. It wasn’t ideal to fall from anywhere, Peter doesn’t think, but he’s far more focused on grounding himself at the moment than anything else, not that it really matters. Breathing, he decides, is very good and everyone with a version of lungs should probably do it as often as they can muster. 

It takes an hour, but Peter does finally fall into a somewhat calm state. He’s tired, he can’t deny that, he only got an hour of sleep, but it isn’t the first night that Peter’s nightmare induced insomnia has brought him to the place he’s at now. His breathing settles and he realizes, slowly, that he’s very alone. 

  
  
  


Peter  _ thought _ his day would at least  _ somewhat _ get better, but, as it turns out, he must have done something that made someone  _ very _ angry because the day has not let up at  _ all. _

He could do without binding, really. After bruising his ribs this morning on his fall to the floor, he figured he could handle it, it was nothing more than a day of needed resting. He could stalk around the sanctum until Daniel got up, maybe get on making breakfast for the two of them, if Daniel chose to stick around in the morning long enough to. With everything going on, the guardian hadn’t had much time to take care of himself, which ended up with a lot of Peter worrying over the man. 

However, when he had gone to make breakfast, he had set the stove on fire within a series of  _ very bad _ decisions. That wasn’t all that abnormal, but it did take two portals to put it out and the sanctum officially stunk of flames and smoke, as well as the burnt eggs that Peter had attempted to make. He had practically hacked up a lung, envying anyone with normal senses that didn’t have to deal with the smell inevitably being stuck there for the next two weeks,  _ at least. _

Daniel hadn’t really said much on it, just telling Peter to go take a shower and get the soot off of him while he cleaned it up. Peter hadn’t wanted to, always found it in him to fuss against being rushed off. His parents hadn’t raised him like that, hadn’t really raised him to accept the little things like that, but Daniel ended up bargaining that he would clean up and get breakfast if Peter went to get lunch in the afternoon and helped him get in a new oven when they got the chance, which Peter had instantly agreed to, knowing that that was the best offer he was going to get. 

His shower was quick, always was, just getting the soot off and washing whatever else needed to be cleaned. Showering wasn’t exactly his favorite activity, hadn’t been since he was just a kid, but it all got enhanced in his hatred after Adrian Toomes and everything that happened with that. Feeling water fall onto his head made his skin clammy and throat tighten. He liked to get it taken care of as quickly as possible, especially given the familiar little bump that appeared on his stomach every month that decided to show up this morning and curse his day even more than it already was. After his showering isn’t any better, either, not when every single piece of clothing he tried to put on felt overwhelming against his skin. It all felt too tight, accenting his chest, showing it off to the world, irritating his ribs even more. Peter knows that isn’t very likely, no, not with the thick layers and the weighted fabric that helped ground him. Despite that, it still feels overwhelming, turning his insides into jelly. 

It takes a total of two hours and Daniel coming to check on him seven times that he finally pieces himself together enough to leave, his room, albeit now wearing a somewhat tight sports bra. It’s not the best option, he’s very aware, but it’s better than any other option Peter has at the very moment, which everything so overwhelming and his world feeling like it would get flipped on its head at any moment. His stomach coils and Peter can’t drop the feeling that something  _ bad _ is going to happen. His spidery senses have never failed him before, so he’s on edge the entire day, to the point that Daniel even notices. 

“Peter,” he snaps at the boy around lunchtime, watching the boy’s head snapped up from his book, eyes wide. The man takes pity on the spider, watching as Peter straightens within an instant with a hum. “You’ve been staring at that page for twenty minutes now and you keep rereading it. You’re usually somewhat more focused. What’s on your mind?” 

Peter lets out a hum at that, lips pursing at that. His brows furrow as he scans the man over, trying to find out if he should actually trouble him over this or not. It’s not too significant, no. The last time Peter’s spidey senses had gone off like this all day, it had ended with Kaecilius betraying the others, so, yeah, peter probably  _ should _ tell him about it. He decides, after a moment or two of pondering, that he will blab. 

“Something’s going to happen,” he says softly, dropping from his spot on the ceiling of the commons, landing gracefully beside the adult. “I don’t - I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s not good. It won’t be good, can’t be good.” His throat feels tight, suddenly, far tighter than it had been earlier. “It’s bad and the spidey senses are just-” He makes a few motions with his wrist, signaling that it’s all over the place. 

Daniel hums, nodding slowly as he listens to the boy and his troubles. “Is it just your spidey senses or a gut feeling?” 

“Spidey senses are just enhanced anxiety, I think,” he mumbles, setting the book he was attempting to read on the table, “and most of my anxiety wasn’t really a gut feeling…” 

Daniel waits for a moment before asking,  _ “But?...” _

The spiderling glances at his mentor, brows knit now as he says, “But this feels like a gut feeling, too. A really  _ bad _ gut feeling, like the last time it got that bad.” 

Daniel brings a hand to his chin, a brow raised as he thinks out the words, nodding and humming. “So, this is a gut feeling?” 

“Yes.” 

“And a spidey senses feeling?”

Peter repeats, “and a spidey senses feeling, yeah.” 

The man hesitates before finally giving a gentle nod. “Okay,” he says, leaning up to lean his arms against his knees. “What do you think it is, then? I don’t think that this morning’s breakfast fire is enough to set off your sixth sense.” 

Peter lets out a light-hearted scoff at that, breaking a smile as he agrees, “Yeah, I don’t think it is, either.” He frowns after a moment, though, heaving out a sigh. “I don’t know what it could be.” 

Daniel gives a gentle nod at that, a hum falling from his lips as he takes in the other’s words. “Okay, then.” The mentor takes his own moment to figure out what they should do. Eventually, he settles on, “Okay, let’s go through what you’ve done today. Maybe you forgot something and it’s piling up right now without you even realizing it?” 

The suggestion earns a quick, enthusiastic nod from the boy. “That sounds good, yeah,” he agrees. However, the realization that he will, in fact, have to discuss this morning makes the enthusiastic bit fall. “Well, I woke up from nightmares,” he says softly, frowning at the ground. 

Daniel sharpens as the boy’s eyes fall to the ground, away from the man. The boy visibly slumps at it. “Was it about Captain America,” he asks before anything else comes to mind. 

Peter flinches at the mention of the man, but he shakes his head sharply. No, no, he had nightmares about that a lot, but that wasn’t one of them this morning. He could feel the ghost pain of his wrists shattering against the tons that fell on him, crushing his wrists as if they were putty. He had continued to fight, though, as if it were nothing. He had permanent damage from tearing the ligaments and he had to pretend that he had actually broken them when his dresser fell over. He could almost hear the crunching now, feeling his muscles tighten as he carried on a conversation with the blonde man as if he hadn’t just done something incredibly horrid. He hadn’t told Mister Stark about it, giving him the same excuse he gave Aunt May. Surprisingly, it ended up passing on the man. 

“No,” he says after he realizes he hadn’t responded. “No, it, um, it was actually more about my parents and their deaths than anything tonight, sorry.” He timidly looks at the man, who is nodding slowly, understanding the other. “It wasn’t really anything big or important, either.” 

Daniel nods slowly. Peter knows he’s aware of a lot of things that’s happened in the boy’s life. Peter’s been living in the sanctum for a rather long time now and the man had been there when Peter had stumbled in, sobbing and apologizing, bleeding profusely from multiple different wounds. He knew about the nightmares that came with his PTSD. Hell, if the Ancient One wasn’t calming Peter down then he was. Now is no exception to this. He’s already aware of the boy’s parents’ deaths. It had been in the news years ago, the lone Parker surviving when the two scientists were brutally murdered on their way home from a trip to visit family. Peter had changed his name since then and a lot of things were different now. 

The older man says, “Okay, then, what’s next?” 

“I didn’t change, just got up and kind of read some books for a while. I didn’t have much to do since it was still dark outside and I didn’t really want to go anywhere anyway. I got up to make breakfast and kind of killed the oven.” 

Daniel snorts. “That’s one word for it.” 

The boy only waves him off with a flippant hand, smiling all the same. “I took a shower and had trouble getting dressed. All the fabrics felt…  _ overwhelming, _ I guess?” He shrugs, brows furrowed. “Kind of made me too aware of everything. But then I came down here and I’ve been with you ever since.” 

“Nothing else happened?”

“I bruised my ribs when I fell off my ceiling,” he volunteers with a shrug and raised a brow. At the disappointed look that crosses Daniel’s face, he’s quick to smile and say, “I know, I know! I’m trying to stop falling asleep on the ceiling so much, but it is kind of a spider instinct to be high up, I guess. I’m not trying to put myself in danger all the time, promise!” 

“I  _ know,” _ he sighs. 

The spiderling lets out a laugh at the man’s gentle jeering, flopping down in one of the chairs next to his. He folds one leg over the other, making himself comfortable in the chair, which mostly involves the boy folding in on himself with his legs getting thrown over the arm. “Not much has happened today.” 

“That’s good, though, isn’t it?” 

Peter merely gives a shrug and smiles. “Meh. Maybe it just means I’ll blow up the new stove when we get it.” 

Daniel softly teases, “It  _ does _ sound like something you’d do,” to which the spiderling gives a gentle kick at the man’s chair, laughing. “Alright, gremlin, what do you want for lunch?” 

“I dunno. How about that sandwich place down the street?” 

“We always order from there.” 

“Yes, that means we’re regulars so our orders don’t take as long.” 

“But it takes so long to get there.” 

“Then  _ I’ll _ get it,” Peter finally snorts, gesturing to himself with a smirk. “I haven’t gone out much lately, it’ll be nice to finally go out and do something.” 

Daniel gives his foot a shove as he responds, “You need the exercise.” 

“I can literally kill you in two seconds flat with a plastic spoon.” 

“I could kill you in two seconds flat with my bare hands.” 

“And  _ I _ can kill you in two seconds flat without my hands at all.” 

Daniel gives him another shove. “Go get the food, you insect.” 

The boy stands up and stretches, snarking back, “I’m an  _ arachnid, _ you  _ human.” _

“You’re  _ also _ human, Peter!” 

“Kid arachnid,” he retorts with a snort before making his way out of the sanctum before Daniel gets a chance to say anything else. 

  
  
  


Peter can feel it before he even opens the door to leave the shop. His mind is set on fire with his spidey senses, doing more than just tingle. They’re buzzing, screaming loud enough that it makes his head start pounding within seconds. He almost wants to scream as he runs out of the shop, but he has three bags in his arm and one held between his teeth, so it isn’t as if yelling will do much for him right now. However, he can feel the extra limbs extending as he flees. It’s more than anxiety, more than just a gut feeling, it’s every single bit of him feeling a disturbance in the sanctum. 

The extra limbs grab onto the bags, holding onto them while Peter’s hand goes up, opening the portal and jumping through it within record time. Under any other circumstances, Peter wouldn’t even imagine doing any of this in public, especially with the very noticeable spider legs emerging from his body, but he can  _ feel _ something happen, both as one of the many sorcerers and as the sanctum’s guardian. He almost falls right through, stumbling over something. If not for the spider reflexes, Peter certainly would have been on the floor, but instead he’s holding himself up and panting through what could be anything from adrenaline to a panic attack. He’s not sure. The one thing he  _ is _ sure of is that he just tripped over a fucking  _ body. _

The boy stumbles to stand up, leaning down to peer at the body with his heart in his throat. He can’t hear a heartbeat coming from it. The bags get set on the ground as he leans over, trying to at least see who it was, given that there are two others on the other side of the room. Peter recognizes the blue robe over this body, though, and it has tears burning at his face instantly. 

“Daniel,” he whimpers out as he turns the body over. There isn’t much warmth to it, just a lifeless face and blood coating the boy’s hands.  _ “Daniel,” _ he repeats, eyes wide as he stares at a lifeless face. 

The sound of shattering interrupts the boy’s tears, making him sniffle and stand. “I’m a guardian,” he whispers to himself, stealing his nerves as he straightens and wipes his face. He’s a guardian,  _ the _ guardian, the new one meant for the New York sanctum. For now, the boy can discard his tears. He  _ has _ to. His spidey senses are burning a hole through his mind and not exactly giving him an option to ignore them. He knows, somewhere, deep within his mind, that that’s a good thing. He doesn’t need to sit here mourning. He’ll have time later, after he takes care of this and fixes the mess he could have prevented if he were just  _ here. _

His shoes slap against the floor, stomach rolling at the scene. If he had  _ been here, _ had just stayed to stick on his spidey senses… His eyes burn with tears at the similarities it draws with Aunt May, the things he had blamed with come with the dance because that always caused severe anxiety. He wishes, silently, that he had some form of foresight the would actually be beneficial for moments like this. Maybe then, he would be able to keep people from fucking  _ dying. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Daniel ungodly amounts, gang. 
> 
> YES I am implying that Bucky merced Peter's parents.


	3. Oopsies blades sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's bad day gets slightly worse and he also unintentionally gets adopted by two doctors.

Stephen’s body falls backward, the man panting with adrenaline and strain from the sudden movements that came with fighting. Yes, he had built up a tolerance to it, sure, but that didn’t mean he was actually trained to take on multiple opponents at once, especially not ones that are at far higher skill sets than he was. Sure, it was to be expected, but that did not mean it was kind to him, not that he actually wanted to do so. Afterall, it leads him to now, body falling and fear of the impending making his eyes widen. 

Before he can make any actual impact with the ground, though, there’s the sharp snap of fabric and he’s being supported. Dark red overtakes his vision for a moment, and then he feels himself being moved up, floating. It takes him a second to realize that the cape from earlier was currently the thing supporting all of his weight and actually holding him up, protecting him. Apparently, it chose him, or something of that sort, he isn’t entirely sure, but he’s thankful that he isn’t bleeding out from a head injury on the stairs at this very moment. That was not on his bucket list, he’s entirely certain. If it were, it would probably be at the bottom, considering that it involves his actual death. Maybe he’ll hit it off his list at one point, but he’s not looking for it right now. 

Kaecilius stands before him, slightly smirking as he claims, “Good to see you’ve actually figured out how to use some of those, then.” 

Before the doctor can actually give any reply, there’s a blue of blue that flashes before him. A tuft of brown hair passes his line of vision, Peter swinging into the room from the stairs, webs leaving his wrist as he pulls one of the artifacts on the wall forward with a whit web coming from his wrist. Doctor Strange can only hover, eyes wide as he watches the boy sling forward, smacking the artifact that, quite frankly, looks like a torture device, onto Kaecilius. Sharp movements follow as the boy sits on the stair’s railing, watching with a stoic expression as Kaecilius becomes immobilized. 

The man blubbers as Stephen carefully lands, not entirely in control as he settles on the ground thanks to the cape. Peter rolls his eyes as he moves forward to pull off the mouthpiece, telling the other, “Give me one good reason why I should allow you to keep breathing.” 

“You’re not one for murder,” comes the easy retort as Peter pulls away slightly. “You’re going to make a rather pathetic guardian, I’m sure.” 

The doctor pauses for a moment, taking the moment to examine Peter’s face. The boy’s eyes are rimmed with red, knuckles white with how harshly he’s gripping his hands, nails digging so deep that blood dribbles to the floor. Stephen could speak from personal experience in saying that he knew that was not an easy feat, incredibly painful to do. His teeth are grit, angry glare focused on the man in front of him. He wonders if this is where Peter’s disappeared to, having mentioned at one point that he lived in New York and had stumbled onto one of the sanctums that way. The man wasn’t sure how he hadn’t collected the hints by now. It must have meant he was close to the actual guardian, the one that was now dead on the floor below. 

“Seemed to tie you up pretty quick.” 

“Yet Strange has guarded it and managed to kill so many. I haven’t seen you kill anyone?’ 

“You said so yourself,” he replies, “Killing isn’t my style.” 

“Then how do you plan to put a stop to your issues? As a guardian, you have to be prepared to kill, especially when your threat will inevitably keep coming back. It isn’t like the police are going to help you now.” 

The boy actually manages to snort at that, rolling his eyes. “I’ve never trusted a police officer in my life, I wouldn’t trust them to actually handle the situation if they actually knew about it, anyway.” 

“Then what are you going to do with me? Or Doctor, considering that he’d be a far better guardian than you ever will be.” 

The boy seems to falter for a moment, brows slightly furrowing before he says, “Actually, Doctor Strange, what are we going to do with him?” He slightly turns his body to peer at the man, keeping Kaecilius within his line of vision still. “You can kill him, I mean, but I don’t really want to myself.” 

“I’ve noticed,” the man mumbles, moving forward almost hesitantly. He turns his attention to Kaecilius, asking, “What’s the point in all of this, actually?”

“The dark dimension,” the other man says, “it’s a place beyond time, beyond physical restraints. Our world could continue to live on forever. Death will no longer be an insult to all of our existence. Dormammu offers all of that without offering the same parlor tricks that the Ancient One offers everyone else.” 

“What do you mean by parlor tricks,” the boy asks with a brow slightly raising in confusion. 

“How do you think she’s managed to stay alive so long?” 

The reply seems to make the boy perk, his brows slightly furrowing. It’s clear within an instant that he knows exactly what Kaecilius is talking about his grip on his own hand loosening. However, the doctor strives for a verbal answer, asking the other adult, “I’ve seen the rituals in her private books.” 

There’s a smug huff to Kaecilius at hearing that. “And I have the ritual to tear her sanctums down. I can let the dark dimension in, to give everyone eternal life, to keep the whole world alive. Wouldn’t that be a sight?” He smiles slightly. “We will never have to be insulted by time, to be insulted by  _ death.” _

Peter seems to perk up once more, but his attention is no longer focused on something else, head cocking to the side. He moves in front of the doctor, subtly passing forward the double-knuckled ring, passing a determined look to the other as he moves within the other mans’ line of sight, entirely bocking the ring out. Blood had collected on the piece of jewelry, smudging on Stephen’s hand as he accepts it. The boy mouths the words, _ Hide it, _ expression fierce and leaving no argument as he listens intently to Kaecilius’ monologue about eternal life.

“What the Ancient One hordes, Dormammu gives freely. Life everlasting.” He slightly cocks his head. “He is not the destroyer of worlds, he is the saviors.” 

Peter frowns slightly and shakes his head. His focus finally falls on the other as he says, “Dormammu made you a murderer, you’ve taken innocent lives.” 

There comes a scoff in return from Kaecilius. “Daniel was far from innocent. He’s taken lives, too.” 

The boy squirms for a second, earning a raised brow from the doctor at the sudden look of discomfort. Peter straightens up. 

“If he did that to your face,” Stephen begins, “How good can his kingdom be? Looks a lot more like it’s set to destroy than anything.” A soft huff of a broken laugh leaves the opposing man, causing a confused, “What, you think that’s funny?” 

Kaecilius smirks as he replies, “No, what I think is funny is that both of you seem to have lost your sling rings.” 

At this, Peter suddenly jumps into action, harshly shoving Stephen out of the way, almost throwing him halfway across the room if not for the cape that manages to save his ass, holding him up before he can get anything. However, with this position, he can see Peter getting stabbed in the chest, the fizzing of the orange portal behind them suddenly very apparent as he watches Peter huff, blood collecting in his mouth as soon as he does so. He coughs. The one who ha thrown the spear shoves Peter, moving to help unhand Kaecilius. Peter shoots out a web, watching the other fall to the floor as it connects to his foot. 

It isn’t enough, though, because the newest member to the fight reaches forward, the contraction folding up. Kaecilius sighs as soon as he’s free, turning to the other to say, “Kill them for me, I’ve got more important matters to tend to.” He forms one of the stabbing blades, cutting the webbing and walking through the portal. The orange sparks disappear with his movements. 

Peter doesn’t pay them any mind as he struggles forward, moving towards the doctor with a wheezing huff. Before he even gets a word in, the cape is protectively moving forward, wrapping around the other man’s head and slamming him to the ground without remorse. Peter smiles as he huffs, “I think I’m going to call you Levi, if that’s okay,” to the cape as he leans on the doctor for support. 

“I’m getting you to the hospital,” the doctor tells him within an instant, hands protectively coming up to support the other against his chest. He maneuvers around the boy to form the portal. 

I need to fight,” Peter huffs softly, “Gotta keep the sanctum safe.” 

“Kid, you’re going to  _ die.” _

“It’s Nerf of nothin’,” comes his reply with a smile. 

The man doesn’t listen, instead, helping pull Peter through the portal as soon as it fully forms, not bothering to stop it as he emerges through the broom closet. He knows the hospital by heart, shoving the doors open to yell, “I need Doctor Palmer!” 

One of the many nurses moves forward, her eyes wide as she looks at the stumbling boy, “Sir-” 

“Doctor Palmer,” Stephen reiterates, “I  _ need _ her! Where is she?” 

“The nurses’ station!” 

Peter lets out a soft huff as he strives forward at the doctor’s insistence. “Christine,” the man calls, brows furrowing and worry filling him at the heavy amount of blood coating his fingers. He wasn’t even holding a hand over the boy’s wound, instead, holding a hand over his stomach and another over his lower back to help keep him stead the best he can. 

The woman perks up at hearing his voice, turning with a soft, “Stephen?” However, the instant she sees the boy pressing a hand to his chest, she says, “Oh, my God.” She rushes forward, moving to help assist him. She helps the boy lean up. 

“Hi, my name’s Peter,” the brown-haired boy replies with a smile, “I’m Spider-Man, I’m also legally missing. Please don’t call Mister Stark.” 

_ “Who?” _

Stephen doesn’t reply to her question, instead, just saying, “Christine, he needs to be on an operating table immediately. Just you and me,  _ now.” _

Despite her hesitance, the woman moves accordingly, frowning as she does so. “What happened to you, kid?” She opens one of the doors to an operating room, one that seems to be clean. By all means, she shouldn’t be accessing it so easily, but the woman was upcoming as the head of staff, so Stephen isn’t all that surprised. The woman glares at the man, asking him, “Stephen, what happened to him? You disappear for months an - and come back with a kid?” 

“He was stabbed,” he tells her, “Cardiac-” 

“No, I  _ got that.” _

“Then why did you ask?” 

Peter scoffs, smiling as he says, “Stop arguing. You two sound like my parents.” 

She frowns, moving to pull apart the robe and bandaging. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” she says as she does so, using scissor to cut away at the sports bra. He merely hums at her words, tapping around his chest. “Your chest cavity’s clear, why are you bleeding from the mouth so much?” 

“Bit my tongue and cheek,” comes the reply before his eyes suddenly roll back, body falling limp. 

_ “No,” _ comes Christine and Stephen’s immediate replies, syncing up at once as they move to attack the pads to his chest and general upper body. They both move accordingly. The two don’t need to say much, even with Stephen’s limited state. He frowns at the sudden chill as he watches the woman with the needle, stiffening. 

“Not again,’ comes the sigh that makes both doctors jump, Christine especially. 

The woman stumbles back with a scream at seeing the spiderling floating before her, hands held up to her mouth. “What am I seeing,” she asks, voice high pitched as she does her best to just breathe. 

“It’s an astral projection of myself,” Peter answers rather nonchalantly. 

She slightly composes herself more, brows furrowing with intense worry. “Does that mean you’re dead?” 

He shakes his head. “No. It’s kind of like a healing place, of sorts? It’s my soul trying to heal or something. I never got the full details on it, but it definitely means I’m still dying.” Peter smiles, rather nonchalant, almost as if the threat of death didn’t spark any sort of fear within him. Stephen was pretty sure that wasn’t the case, though, because he follows up with, “But death doesn’t really sound all that fun, so, please, don’t kill me?” 

“We aren’t going to kill you, peter,” Stephen immediately replies, moving to point at here Christine should press the needle. 

She moves accordingly, pressing it in with the utmost care as she administers the drug. Still slightly out of breath, she comments “What were you even stabbed with, Peter? I’ve never seen any wound like this before.” 

“Well, it’s kind of like a dagger made of air and darkness. I don’t remember the name of it, but it’s not a fun time.” He nods with his comment, though he suddenly stiffens. “Something’s wrong, I’ll be  _ right back.” _ Before either adult has a chance to retort, the boy disappears. 

Christine frowns, but seems to focus on the task at hand. She doesn’t need directions to do her best to save his life. “Stephen, where did you even meet this kid?” 

“Summer retreat,” the man retorts. 

“I’m serious.” 

“There was this place that was supposed to help heal my hands,” he admits, “and they took me in. I found Peter there. I didn’t get to know him too well, but-” Before he can finish, one of the lights slightly moves, making both of them turn towards the shaking appliance. It’s not the only thing to shake, a few more things following suit. “What the Hell is that kid even  _ doing?” _

The woman doesn’t get to reply, the monitor flatlines, an alarmed,  _ “Sheet,” _ leaving her. She doesn’t even have to ask for Stephen to be moving the defibrillator machine closer, already charging it. He passes the defibrillators to her, watching with a keen eye as she moves forward to press them to his chest. He pulls his hands away as she calls, “Clear,” before pressing the buttons, watching the machine come to life. Within an instant of the machine being fired off, the room seems to move slightly, one of the tables holding a few supplies flying back. The woman hesitantly asks, “Did you do that?” 

Stephen only shakes his head, hands still held up, albeit in a slightly defensive position. 

Within the five seconds they’re focused on the moved table, the boy appears suddenly, saying, “I know I said I hate killing-” 

The woman lets out a scream. 

Peter continues, “- but hit me again. Gives me a big energy boost and I’m getting my butt handed to me right now.” He gives them an awkward thumbs up before disappearing again. 

The woman nods at Stephen’s prompting hand gesture, the woman slightly upping the voltage before following the same process once more. There’s another burst of energy that both of the adult. All the appliances in the room spark, blazing bright as a few lights suddenly burst, dying down after only a few seconds. Christine ducks, though, kneeling beside the boy on the table. She hesitantly leans up, eyes wide with worry. Before she even has the chnce to say his name of anything of that sort, the boy is leaning up, gasping for air. 

“What the  _ Hell,” _ she says in a sharp breath. 

  
  
  


The boy sighs quietly at the stitches that take place near his chest. He stays silent as the two adults talk, mostly focusing on just breathing. He isn’t even chiming in on their conversation. For the most part, he’s just focusing on the fact that, well, the sanctum isn’t being guarded right now. His throat feels tight at the sudden realization. 

The instant the woman is done with the stitches, he’s leaning up, frowning. “Miss Doctor Christine,” he says before she can ask what he’s doing, “Thank you for helping me. I’ve got to go protect my home now, though.” 

_ “Peter,” _ comes Stephen’s stressed huff. 

“I’m not letting it fall,” he says, pulling his robe back, closing it tightly. “I’ll be all healed up by the end of the week. Spider genetics, remember?” 

“I’m coming with you, then.” 

“Fine by me.” He stands up, inhaling softly. “I should have webbed it up, actually,” comes his soft words as the fabric grazes over the skin. “Do you know if anyone else is alive right now?’ 

“I don’t,” Stephen replies. 

“Hold on,” Christine says, her hands waving in front of herself. “I  _ just _ stitched you up from a  _ life-threatening injury _ that literally went  _ straight to your heart. _ And you’re going to go  _ fight?” _

Peter nods in reply, humming. “I’m already healing. I heal super quick, so I won’t be in any bad situation with it within a few hours!’ 

“I can’t just  _ let you go.” _

Peter hums softly, brows slightly furrowing as he cocks his head to the side. “I’m sorry, Miss Doctor Christine. If I don’t go, people are going to get hurt.” 

“Then  _ I’ll _ go,” Stephen announces. “You stay here, get some rest,  _ got it? _ I’ll keep the New York sanctum safe and all that.” He passes the sling ring to the boy. “I’ll get mine back at the sanctum, okay? I don’t want you leaving until Christine says you can.” 

The boy pouts slightly but manages a slow nod at the man. He sits back down on the table, whispering,  _ “okay.” _

With that, Christine tells him, “Stay here,” as she follows Stephen out of the room. 

As soon as the doors are shut, Stephen says, “Did you know that I had a chance to operate on him a few years back, actually? But I didn’t because I thought he was a lost cause.” 

Christine’s brows knit. “But he’s still alive.” 

“Yeah, because he has spider DNA that gives him a boosted healing factor. He survived three gunshots at the age of eleven. And I turned him  _ down.” _

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I know it’s not,” he huffs softly. “The kid used to be Spider-Man until his aunt got murdered and his mentor took away his spider suit or whatever it was. And then he got an arm blown off by a villain’s bomb.” 

_ “Christ.” _

“Mister Stark, by the way, is  _ The _ Tony Stark that he’s talking about. Apparently, the kid just entirely disappeared. He hasn’t talked to his friends or anything.” 

Christine’s tone is fond as she retorts, “I thought you said you weren’t close to Peter? You kind of sound like a doting father.” 

“His other mentor just got murdered, Christine,” comes the dry reply, “I’d say the kid deserves some parental figure in his life that isn’t going to die.” 

“You better not die,” the woman says as they open the door to the broom closet that shows the blossoming portal. 

He slightly smiles at her, turning towards her as he says, “I won’t,” before stepping into the portal once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is all I'm going to be writing for Doctor Strange (2016) for this fic and I'm going to hop into Infinity War soon because I have a lot of plans for it and the rest of Doctor Strange (2016) is canon compliant for this fic, or, at the very least, should be. I don't feel the need to adjust anything outside of declaring that Peter will be the official guardian of the New York sanctum, but both Wong and Stephen are also appointed guardians. 
> 
> My deepest apologies for the SUPER late update. i lost my draft for this fic forever ago and rewrote it today because I realized how long it's been since I've updated.

**Author's Note:**

> I lost chapter one's doc and it gave me emotional damages, thanks.
> 
> Here's my Discord server!  
> https://discord.gg/eGkwayy


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